I hope people are enjoying PoD ‘O Gold Month on its second day. I am sure we’ll all be sick of this shtick come the end of March. It was way more work tracking down 30 days worth of specific content instead of just throwing up whatever people send me so I don’t think I’ll ever do a full themed month again, though I’ll definitely be doing themed weeks (like Across the PoD Week) again, if anything just to service my need of extremely forced and terrible puns. This week I tried to stay on theme and talked a little about when I was in Ireland
I love Guinness but why is it so much more common than Smithwicks and Harp, two infinitely better Diageo beers compared to the flagship stout? Sometimes you go to an Irish-y looking pub and they don’t even have Smithwicks! Honestly, should be illegal. They should have rules about who gets to call themselves an Irish pub - like the champagne/sparkling wine rules. If you don’t have Smithwicks and like, 5 divorced cops inside at all times, you’re just a regular bar that plays bagpipe music.
I was in Ireland in 2015, having a drink in a mostly empty pub when the only other guy in the bar stood up, walked over to the empty stool next to me and said “I knew you were one of the good [Americans] because you ordered a Smithwicks.” then continued without stopping to take a breath, “Have I ever told you about the time I drove from California to New York to get home?” Which is the best way anyone has ever introduced themselves to me. No man, you haven’t told me that story - we just met.
When our friend (I never actually did get his name) was 18 he walked down to the docks, asked if they were hiring and then just became a sailor for a decade. (I am getting very close to celebrating the one year anniversary of me losing my full time job and I think we need to bring back these hiring practices. Let me just show up somewhere one day and I can work there until I retire. I looked into how to become a merchant marine and it is not that easy. Things like “qualifications” and “safety” are getting in the way of progress!)
Anyway, after doing this for ten years, they made port in California and he realized he didn’t want to be a sailor anymore and wanted to go back to Ireland. Him and his buddy decided to rent a car and drive to New York through the south on the classic American road trip. Hell yeah. In Texas they got a hotel and asked the front desk where the best steak in town was. The front desk informed them that “the best” place in town was reservations only and always had a line out the door but he would be happy to show him a place that catered more to the last second planner. This simply would not do. He knew he wasn’t ever going to make it to Texas so he hatched a plan. Him and his buddy went to this fancy steak restaurant, cutting their way to the front of the line, making a point to say loud “excuse mes” and “beg your pardons” in their best, as he put it “Lucky Charms-ass voice” on their way to the maitre d. “Hello,” he said “me and my friend here are on report from the Irish Times and we heard this was the best steak in town. We’re hoping we can get a table to review it for our Vacation In Texas series we’re writing for back home.” In less than twenty minutes he was eating a medium rare steak the size of his plate.
Truly genius. I think this had to have taken place in the 1970s both based on how old I think he was and also the 70s seems like the peak decade of harmless lying to pull off cool shit. He made it clear to me that he did not in fact work for a newspaper called “The Irish Times” but he was also pretty sure there wasn’t even a newspaper with that name at all. Every old dude sitting alone in a pub, Irish or otherwise, has a story like this one and every single one of them has somehow tracked me down to tell it. I love it! I think about that guy all the time. I hope wherever he is, he’s enjoying Smithwicks and talking someone’s ear off.